Bittersweet

Daily, registrants and those that love them, deal with the atrocities that continue to batter them long after a sentence is served. There seems no light at the end of this tunnel and for each step forward there are often two steps back. There are days I just want to throw my hands up and quit, admitting defeat. Then I look at the face of my son, the haunted eyes that no longer spark with life and hope. I watch him, listening to his frustration as he looks for work, the pain and dejection that cause his broad shoulders to slump even more with each rejection. I sit quietly, crying and praying after he withdraws, telling me that death would be preferable to this hopelessness.

On the other hand, he’s fortunate to have support, to have people that love him, in the best of times and in the worst of times. I often wonder though if that’s enough.

Last night he was so despondent that he got drunk. He shouldn’t drink for many reasons. He has liver damage already because of medications. He’s unpredictable and he can be violent. And there is that rage, that undercurrent of dark anger that simmers just below the surface, that is understandable but frightening. So he drank. I took the car keys as a precaution. He raged. At me. At his dad. Then he broke, sobbing about how worthless life was, how hopeless. I could say it was the alcohol talking and it was partly, but the truth of the matter is, unless change happens, unless there is reform and laws change, how much hope is there?

He left. On foot, at 1:30 in the morning. I’m emotionally shut down at this point. I will share this, that God intervened with his dad and me last night. For once his dad stayed calm and listened. No words were said that were irrevocable. That was prayer. Still, my faith wavered, seeing only the worse in my mind as my child stumbled off…drunk, angry…hurting. But I can’t fix everything. Not anymore. Not like when he was little and Mommy and Daddy could save the world. At least his world.

I didn’t sleep obviously. About 9 this morning I got a text. It was J. He wanted to know if I would pick him up for church. He was at his grandmothers.

The police picked him up last night. Again, God intervened. The officer was kind and as he was calling in J’s information, J told him when the report came back that the first thing would be was that he was a registered sex offender. Then he broke down with the officer, not holding back. The officer was kind, encouraging and said he wasn’t going to take him to jail, but to J’s grandmother’s instead. He didn’t even cuff him when he put him in the car. He talked to J, telling him that the police were just people too, offering understanding without condemnation.

I feel relief and yet, my heart is still so heavy. For today, my son is safe. He came through a storm but there are still so many ahead. Will he weather the next one? How many until the devastation of the storm is so complete that there is no rebuilding, no coming back.

I’m not going to lose him if I can help it. Just as my personal faith is renewed, so is my faith in the work and goals of RSOL. How brave and courageous each of you are. I have so much respect for you individually and as a group. It’s because of people like you and an organization like this that keeps the hope alive. And, because of you, change will come.

Thank you, for helping me understand, helping me grow, encouraging my own boldness…

Thank you for your tutelage…and for allowing me to be part of this, even if sometimes my contributions are small and seemingly insignificant.

Fondly and respectfully